Beautiful Dreamer
by Shunyata Ryuen
Summary: A dark, beautiful man comes to the palace, and Nuriko is plagued with nightmares. How to tell an emperor that you've dreamed of his death, or that his new best friend might carry with him an ancient evil?


[Beautiful Dreamer]  [by Ryuen]

**d i s c l a i m e r :   **Fushigi Yuugi, Hotohori, and Nuriko do not belong to me.  Neither do the song lyrics that open this story, for that matter.  Or the title.  Or my penname.  Or...well, let's just stop there.  

**a u t h o r ' s    n o t e :**  Don't be misled by the title.  Although there may be romance in this story at some point, perhaps, a _little_, the title's primary function is not to be sappy/goopy/woohoo, but—instead--to be kinda creepy. :P  *nod*  Also, "Tsuki no Nai Yoru," or "Moonless Night," provided a great deal of the background writing music for the first section.  I had to shut it off after that, alas, as those individuals with whom I share a household were less than pleased to hear it on endless repeat for an hour and twenty minutes.  *hangs head in shame*  But, ah well.  I survived. *nod*

**w a r n i n g s :  **This fic is given a PG-13 rating because of the subject matter.  Despite the fact that there is (and will be) no sex and very little obscene language, there _will_ be violence and death, and probably a few slightly-gory descriptions. *shrug*  Also, as Nuriko is one of the stars of our show, there will be shounen ai implications, although whether or not there will actually _be_ shounen ai is yet to be discovered. ^_~.  

Anyway, enough of my rambling.  Thanks for stopping by, don't throw tomatoes, and enjoy the fic.  *waves*

**Beautiful Dreamer**

by Ryuen

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A long time ago, they used to believe

That within a beautiful person dwells an evil heart.

To keep its eternal beauty,

The tragedy happens night after night.

_--Moonless Night, Satou Akemi_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_1.   Eyes of the Dead_

It was twenty minutes until midnight, and already he could feel himself slipping away.  

The forest had grown thick and dark around him, a maze of thorns and trunks and vines, and despite the tales he'd been told in the last village, there was no sign of any kind of wildlife, least of all the vicious wolves he'd heard so much about.  He felt his lips tugging upwards, despite the pain of the brambles against his bare legs, at the thought of their worries.  Had they truly been so blind, that they could sit there beside him, the worst of their nightmares, the deepest of their fears, and shout that something should be done, something should be done to protect our children?

The smile faded.  He was running, now, the breath rasping in and out of his parted lips, long strands of hair sweeping out behind him like black silk.  He could feel it growing thinner as he ran, could feel the wrinkles folding into his flesh, the dark, bruised splotches creeping onto his hands.  It was harder to draw breath now, he thought, and much more difficult to keep his legs going, to keep himself moving, running...racing.  There was a burning in his lungs, a swirling like fog in his brain, and he knew that if he couldn't get into Eiyo soon, he wasn't going to make it.

For a moment he slowed his pace, the sudden rush of terror enough to drive the air out of his lungs, drain all strength from his muscles.  If he didn't make it...

If...if he didn't make it...

He shuddered, wrapping slender arms around himself, and squeezed his eyes shut against the visions of flame, shadow, and darkness.  No.  No, he had to make it.  

He drew a breath, let it out in a huff of air, and then began to run again.  

He had to.

The night seemed to stretch on forever in front of him, dark and thick and soundless.  He ran with his arms stretched out in front of him, knocking away vines and brambles despite the pain shooting up to his shoulder, and for awhile, ran without stumbling.  There was a moon tonight, he knew, but it was draped in cloudcover, leaving him shrouded in a darkness so thick that at times, he could see only to the edge of his elbow, if that far.  Only the distant pricks of torchlight led him through the trees, kept him oriented on the right path and in the right direction.  But, they were so far away...

Too far.

It slammed into him like a fist to the stomach, that knoweldge, but he didn't stop running—he _couldn't _stop running.  Even if it was hopeless, even if there was no possible way he was going to reach those distant flecks of light before midnight, he had to keep going.  He had to...because, gods, what else was there?  

The saliva pressing against his tongue tasted suddenly foul, and he was aware of a chill, sticky sweat bathing his flesh as he moved.

_Mine,_ that dark, slithering voice whispered within him.  _Mine...mine..._

And then, suddenly, salvation loomed before him like a gift from the gods.

In the space of a heartbeat, the clouds had shifted in the sky, let a thin trickle of moonlight seep out into the world.  It rained down through the forest canopy in ribbons of silver, letting him see the world around him for the first time in what felt like a lifetime—the slender, gnarled tree trunks, the drooping branches, the coating of dirt and stone and leaves that blanketed the ground...and her.

A girl, perhaps fifteen or sixteen years old, sitting with her legs drawn up to her chest, her head leaned back against the trunk of a sturdy oak.  She was beautiful, the moonlight turning her pale skin into marble, her hair into ringlets of spun gold.  Eyes lightly closed, she was, he reasoned, either asleep or unconscious, although most likely asleep from the peaceful smile on her lips.

There was no logical reason for her to be here, in the thick of the woods so near to midnight, but he was not one to question such things.  The urgency was building inside of him, trembling up his spine and down his limbs, and he knew that he was nearer to death than he had ever been before.  

His pace slowed, his booted feet rustling loudly against the fallen leaves; the girl did not stir.  

Usually, there was time spent getting to know them beforehand, learning of their minds and souls, ensuring that they were pure enough and good enough to draw him back into life and beauty...but, there was simply no time.  Already feeling himself nearing that terrifying brink, he crept forward, dropped to his knees on the forest floor, and moved to her side.   

Her eyes slid open as he placed a gentle hand on her cheek, smoothed the hair back from her forehead.

For a moment, she tensed beneath him, but then something softened in her eyes, and he realized that he, too, looked almost statuesque in the moonlight, bathed in silver and still beautiful, even on the very edge of death.

"Who are you?" she whispered, smiling softly.  "Am I dreaming?"

He smoothed again at her hair, a gentle sorrow flickering in the darkness of his eyes.  "Yes," he murmured.  

And then, he brought a hand to her chin, tilted it carefully upwards, and pressed his lips to hers.  There was a moment, just after it began, when she tried to struggle, when she gasped and tried to break free, but by then, there was little strength left in her arms, little but breath left in her body.  And then, even that faded, and suddenly, he was alone, the rush of life and beauty surging over him like a cool wave.  

He drew in a long, sweet breath when it was finished, drawing quietly back as if afraid of waking her, and rose to his feet.  

And, gods, there was time now, wasn't there?  

There was time.  Time to get to Eiyo.  Time to continue his search...

Time to find the One he'd been looking for for almost three hundred years, and to at last end the curse that had driven him into the darkness, given him his name.  He only hoped the rumors were true, about the young emperor of Konan—his beauty and kindness, his purity of heart, body, and soul.  And if he were, truly, the One...

Anchuu closed his eyes, the thought of being free again after so long bringing a smile to his lips, a hopeful peace to his heart.  As he set off for the twinkling lights of Eiyo, it was with a new lightness to his steps, and with the quiet murmur of a song seeping from his lips.  If he kept this pace, he reasoned, he would find himself in the warmth of one of the town inns in an hour, and might even have time for a hot bath before bed.  After all...tomorrow would be an important day.  

He would have to look his best, if he was to stand before the emperor.

~*~

"...horrible, did you hear?"  
  
"Oh, Suzaku, yes—I can hardly believe it.  I-It just doesn't seem real."

"She was only eighteen, wasn't she?"

"Eighteen?  Not hardly.  Only sixteen."

"_Sixteen?_"  
  
"Hai, I know.  Just a baby.  It's so sad.  She always talked about trying to get away—no one thought she'd actually _try_ it, though."

  
He'd been lying quietly in bed, swathed in blankets and floating blissfully between sleep and waking, listening to the soothing murmur of his maids' voices.  They were in every morning, freshening the flowers in the vase, returning whatever dresses had been recently washed, and just generally straightening the room for him (or Miaka, usually) to mess up again.  He'd tried telling them that he didn't need them, that he was just as capable of taking care of his room now as he'd been when he was just another harem girl, but they were both stubborn and cheerful—a difficult combination to persuade of anything.

Every morning since he'd been moved to this new room, a sign of his station as a Suzaku shichiseishi, they'd come in, cleaned up, and endured all requests that they leave with a smile and a "just one more thing, and then we'll get out of your way..."   
  


Now, he didn't even bother to fight them.  Besides, they were becoming a comfortable fixture in his life, and were often the first voices he heard as he drifted into consciousness.  It was nice, to wake to the sound of life and conversation, and he usually didn't disturb them, waiting until they'd finished and left before even rising from beneath the covers.

Today, however...

He sat up straight in the bed, careful to keep the blankets pressed to his chest, and stared at the two maids as if really seeing them for the first time.  They gasped at the sudden movement, freezing in their conversation, and stared at him, too, with much the same expression.

"Lady Kourin?" one of them said, lifting an eyebrow.  "We didn't disturb you, did we?"  
  
He shook his head, smoothing a hand briefly through his long hair, and studied them for a moment.  He hadn't bothered to learn their names, but he knew—at least from the snatches of morning conversation that he was awake enough to comprehend—that the one with the lower, silkier voice was Kira, and the one with the higher, wispier voice was Rei.  So, if he was hearing right, that would mean that the one standing by the flowers with the dark hair was Rei, and the one who'd just spoken to him—leaning against the dresser with the dusting cloth in her hand—was Kira.  

He remembered Kira as being slightly shorter than he was, but standing, as she was, next to Rei, who came only to the taller woman's chin, she seemed much larger.  Her hair was a rusty brown, tugged up into a twist on the back of her head, and although she was clad in the simple blue serving frock that all the maids wore, there was an elegance about her, more fitting of a noblewoman than a maid.  

Then again, this _was_ the palace.

Nuriko shook his head, banishing such random thoughts in favor of a larger, more important issue.  "I couldn't help but overhear," he said, a little too quickly.  "Who were you talking about just now?"

The girls exchanged a glance he didn't like, neither seeming to want to speak, but at last it was Rei who broke the silence, taking a few short steps forward with her head lowered, her eyes on the ground.

"I-I'm sorry, Lady Kourin.  I...we didn't think...but, of course, you haven't heard, yet, as you've just woken up."  
  
"It's Maia," Kira cut in, jaw clenched, lips barely moving despite the volume of her words.  "Lady Alia found her missing last night around midnight, and sent out a search of guards immediately.  They found her in the forest, a few miles out of town.  She was...she was dead."  
  
The hand traveled to his lips of its own volition, smothered the gasp that had been building there.

Kira's expression sank suddenly into sorrow, and she, too, lowered her eyes.  "I'm sorry we had to be the ones to tell you, Lady, but...you asked."

_She's dead.  Sixteen years old, and she's dead.  She's dead.  She's.  Dead._

"Hai," he managed, feeling suddenly cold.  "I...I asked."

"You were..."  Rei faltered; her voice dropped.  "You were...friends with Maia, weren't you?"

He nodded mutely, wanting to ask why, how, where, why, why, _why_, but lacking the strength to do so.  At last he simply lifted an arm, waved the maids away, and even though they looked conflicted at first, they eventually left.  After the soft click of the door sliding shut, Nuriko lay back on his bed, the blankets dropping to his waist, pressed a hand to his mouth, and tried to fight against the hot, smothering tears.  

He was overreacting, of course.  He'd been friends with Maia, but they hadn't been terribly close; since his identity as a seishi had been discovered, he hadn't seen or spoken to the girl even once, had only seen her, from time to time, moving with dainty steps between the Harem and the Gardens.  

And, yet...

He rolled over onto his stomach, pressed his face to the pillow and let out a shaky breath.

And, yet...somehow...it hurt.  

With a trembling hand, he managed to stretch down, grasp onto the blankets and tug them up to the base of his neck.  Beneath them, he felt warm and almost safe, as if there were a wall between his body and the chill of the world around it.  And even if that wasn't true, even if it hurt just as much under here as it did out there, he stayed beneath the covers until the tears had exhausted themselves, and then he pulled his knees to his chest, closed his eyes, and wept silently until he fell asleep.  

~*~

A slender line arcing through his brow, Hotohori brought a thumb and forefinger to his chin, stroked thoughtfully.  

"Well," he said slowly, choosing his words with care, "has _anyone_ seen Nuriko this morning?"

The page, a slender boy of fifteen, ducked his head towards the floor, sending a mop of brown hair flopping down over his eyes.  "No, Heika-sama; at least, not anyone I've spoken to.  Kazera-san gave me a list of people to talk to, and none of them have seen her.  Oh—her personal maids couldn't be reached, since they were cleaning in the Harem, but once they exit, I'll be sure to talk to them, sir."

The young emperor gave a nod, folding his hands on the desk and leaning forward a bit in his chair.  "Have Nuriko's quarters been checked?"  
  


The boy looked up at him suddenly, eyes wide.  "Well...sir...I knocked, but there was no reply."  
  
"You didn't look inside?"  
  
"With, ah...with all due respect, Heika-sama..."  The boy blushed, a violent streak of pink against the pallor of his cheeks.  "The Lady Kourin...err, Nuriko-sama—"  He nodded apologetically.  "—has the palace staff on special orders not to enter her chambers without permission.  O-Only her personal maids are allowed to, and even they...well, I heard she used to send them away when they first started, and yell at them, even though they were just trying to do their—"  He broke off, suddenly seeming to realize that the recipient of this gossip was the _emperor_, and swallowed.  "Th-The point is, Heika, that I'm not allowed in there.  But, I could go knock again, if you...if you want.  Sir."

Hotohori gave a slight sigh, rubbing two fingertips against his left temple.  "It's all right," he said, sounding weary even to his own ears.  "Go about your duties.  I'll take care of it."

Despite looking slightly disappointed—perhaps, Hotohori mused, at having been denied the privelege of glimpsing the forbidden interior of "Lady Kourin's" chambers—the boy offered a quick bow, smoothed the fabric of his uniform, and then hurried out the door.  

And, just like that, the young emperor was alone.

Well, he was never _truly_ alone, he reminded himself, spending a dull moment straightening the papers on his desk.  Just outside the door were two armed guards, and to the sides, in small antechambers, was a handful of servants, ready to charge in at the slightest indication that they were needed and serve him.  

He sighed again.

Yes, there were people—all around him, catering explicitly to his needs and wants, focused on him as they were on no other.  And yet, it still felt empty; it still felt lonely.  It still felt as if something were _missing_.  And with Tamahome and Miaka still far away in Kutou, and the remainder of the Suzaku no shichiseishi undiscovered, there was only one person in all of Konan that came close to filling that emptiness, to reviving the man beneath the weight of the title.

Nuriko.

And he was missing.

The robes were heavy against his shoulders as he lifted himself from his chair, circled the desk and began to make his way for the door.  Of course, it was rare when he walked unaccompanied about the palace grounds, despite the safety of the place and his own prowess at defending himself.  Yet, today, he knew no one would trouble him, and that even the most stubborn of his advisors would not insist on flanking him as he walked.

On this day, the anniversary of his mother's death, he would be left strictly alone—to deal with his grief, he supposed.  Of course, it was intended to help him, to give him the privacy they assumed he needed, but all the respectful isolation did was further plunge him into a sorrow he did not have to feel.  His mother was dead, had been dead for quite some time, and he had long ago accepted that; but on this date, every year, the people around him forced her memory back into his brain by avoiding him, stepping lightly around him, regarding him with sad eyes and anguished smiles.  

It was because of this knowledge that he'd planned to spend the day with Nuriko, with someone who—while still acting _slightly_ awkward around him—at the very least called him by his shichiseishi name, realized he was a man and not some figure of myth, and knew him, as only those who shared his destiny could know him.  

He stepped out onto the palace walkway, hands clasping automatically before him, and granted a nod to each guard before starting towards Nuriko's quarters.  He wasn't exactly sure where they were, as his advisors had arranged for the housing arrangements rather than he himself, but he knew that it was near to Miaka's room, and...  Well, he certainly knew where _that_ was.

Moments passed.  The walkways were startlingly empty, stretching out before him with no sign of life or movement; he found this strange, until he caught a glimpse of a maid who, after turning the corner of the walkway and spotting him, abruptly turned and fled back the way she'd come.  By the time he reached the corner and turned it, she had vanished, and it was then that he realized that _all_ were avoiding him.  Maybe, he thought sadly, Nuriko also.  Of course, that would be all right; after all, most of his subjects and servants tended to believe that avoidance was what he _wanted_ on this day, that they were catering to his wishes rather than their own.  Nuriko had been living at the palace for a few years—he might, the young emperor reasoned, be of the same opinion as the rest of them. 

Of course, that could be remedied easily enough, but—

He paused, realizing he'd come to Miaka's door, and glanced around himself.  The morning was very warm, the heavy robes almost suffocating against the sunshine, and the scent  of jasmine and cherry blossoms floated to him from the gardens.  It was a beautiful morning, extending the promise of being a beautiful day, and yet he could catch a glimpse of storm clouds, floating just on the horizon.  Depending on the direction of the wind...

The thought trailed off.  

_Wait._

_Wait, what...what was...?_

He'd been standing at the railing, a hand blocking the sun from his eyes and gaze trained on the horizon.  Now, however, he turned, stared at the door behind him with a frown creeping onto his features.  

_Was that...?_

He took a hesitant step, wondering if he was hearing things, and a moment later found himself with his shoulder pressed to the door, fingers brushing against the knob.  The sound was not repeated for such a long time that he almost shrugged, moved away, but...

But, then he heard it, again, and knew he had not been imagining things.  It was a low moan, trembling as if in great pain or great fear, and despite the muffling effect of the door, the softness of the voice...he was almost positive that it was Nuriko's.

And then the moan rose into a shriek, and all doubts as to the owner of the voice faded away.  His heart was thundering madly in his chest as he turned the knob, pushed open the door, and stepped inside.

~*~

_It was dark.  So dark.  No moon.  No stars.  No...no, there -was- a moon, but it was hidden, tucked beneath the clouds, casting a shadow on the world so thick that he wondered if he'd gone blind.  And then, suddenly, there came a flare of light, a wash of silver, and  there was an angel floating before him, blond curls swirling around her head, brushing against her cheeks as if moved by an unseen wind, and even before her name came to his lips, he knew that she was dead.  Her eyes were open, pooling with tears that never broke past her eyelashes, and her lips were moving, chanting something he couldn't hear, but...but, she was dead.  Empty.  Lifeless and soulless, a puppet or a doll..._

_With a suddenness that took his breath away, her features smeared, contracted, reformed into a face all too familiar.  The blond curls darkened and smoothed, were suddenly washing down over her shoulders in a flood of chestnut silk, sweeping against the red of her  robes in rhythmic waves.  And then, she was gone—Maia was gone—and there was only him, only those beautiful amber eyes and that  smooth, bronze skin and those carefully-chiseled features, breathtaking even in the darkness of the dream..._

_But, his eyes.  Gods.  Gods, his eyes..._

_They were empty.  _

_They were dead._

~*~

**n o t e s :**  [1]  "Anchuu," translated, means "in the dark."  [2]  The time frame for this story, in case you didn't catch it, is just after Nuriko returns to the palace and Tamahome and Miaka (and Chichiri) go to Kutou.  [3]  I'm making a Nakago sock puppet.  [4]  There are a _lot_ of original characters in this piece, did you notice that? ^_^;  [4]  *waves kotwas banner*  [5]  Leave a review if you're so inclined; I appreciate them a lot, and they often give me that extra kick I need to write more.  Nnnnnnnnot trying to bribe you into reviewing, though, of course.  Thaaaaat would be wrong. *solemn nod*


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